The End?
by WhiteWolfLegend
Summary: Looking back on the memories of Sherlock Holmes, Watson thought it was the end, or was it? AGoS


**A/N: So for those who don't know I have come somewhat madly in love with S. Holmes now…. *sighs dreamily* so, I decided to write a O/S while my Crossover is being written.**

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**Watson POV**

_Holmes and I had been friends ever since I had returned from the war, but friends would be an understatement to say the least when describing what we had. _

_We were brothers; not by blood - but brothers none the less and nothing could truly tear us away or destroy that. Even I deluded myself into thinking I could leave this life, leave the adventure and utter refreshing things that Holmes seemed to present. _

No matter how much I loved my Mary, Holmes would always come first and with that I cannot explain.

"John my love, are you coming down to supper?" Mary asks by the door, looking up from the typewriter below me I shook my head.

"No Mary, I am sorry but I need to get this all out while I still can." I tell her with a forced smile, in reality I needed to think; I didn't want her to worry.

Smiling at me she nodded, "I will ask Maria to bring in some supper for you." She states before closing the door softly.

Sighing sadly I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes with the palm of my hand to rid myself of the tired feeling.

It had been a month since Holmes passed, a month since I had been on a case or having him interrupt my life. I miss it dearly, I miss him. The last case, the one he swore to Holmes was his last… it was the worst AND truly the last case of them together, or at all.

There were times I thought I would surely die and never see my Mary again and then there were the times where Holmes surely would have died. He even did at one point, his heard laying in Simza's lap; his eyes closed and peaceful. I had panicked, my doctor instincts kicking in until he didn't truly respond.

It was the time I truly realised I couldn't lose him.

But it was the night of the party in Sweden, the one where we had followed Moriarty too and the one where everything had changed, the world had lost Sherlock Holmes.

_Memory _

I had pushed through the crowed after I had pronounced Simza's brother dead, the poison had won the war and he was gone. Her screams of torment followed me as I tried to push my through, I needed to find Holmes to see if he was okay, the old boy needed my help half the time when it came to the fights where he was injured.

I didn't know what to expect, normally I wouldn't be worried of the old boy but he was badly injured from later before, where he had a hook through his shoulder and hoisted in the air; his screams still haunt me.

My hands shoved the wooden door I knew they would be as soon as they touch it, my eyes quickly landing on Holmes and Moriarty, his leg and arms wrapped around Moriarty with one leg on the tabe before them.

His eyes though was what made me freeze in my spot, his brown eyes were locked onto me so full of emotion. They had never showed emotion like this, for Sherlock Holmes was never willing to show any to anyone. But here he was, looking at me with so much sorrow; they screamed I'm sorry.

It felt as if the world had frozen but us and then everything sped up as he closed his eyes and pushed them over the icy ledge into the pounding waterfall below.

Fear and horror clutched me, my feet moving automatically as I raced to the edge, his name on my lips as I looked down the cliffs below. There was no sign of him, them.

_End_

The sound of thunder and lightning clapping across the sky jolted me from my memories of Holmes. That night had been the worst night of my life, I had lost him.

I searched for days until I just gave up, gave up on finding the man who was my brother; my family. I was a wreck when I got home, my body lethargic my stomach churning as I stumbled in drunk a few nights later. Mary had comforted me, her voice full of sorrow as I sobbed out the story.

Sighing, I tore my eyes away from the script before me, not even realising as I thought my hands were typing them. It was the final chapter of my stories with him; I just needed to share them with the world. I needed them to see how bright and amazing Sherlock truly was.

Standing I stretch my sore muscles and look out the window into the billowing storm. It was like the torment within me, darkening by the seconds as only flashes of light flicker for brief seconds.

"Oh Holmes, I do miss you considerably." I choke out, my hands gripping the windows pane tightly till my knuckles turned white.

"You stupid, bastard, why did you leave me here?" I choke out once more as I watch a tear drop onto the back of my hand. Wiping away the tears furiously I limp over to where the brandy was and poured it into the glass till it was almost full.

In three gulps the class was gone and topped up once more. I didn't care if I was going to get considerably drunk, I just wanted to forget for one night; just one night where I didn't feel the ache over the loss of Holmes. I sat in the chair by the fire till it began to dim, the candles had all been but blown out and I sat in darkness. Only when the flashes of light from the raging storm outside lit up the room was I not in darkness.

Silence rang and my head snapped to the left as the familiar sound of a click filled the air, my body snapping up and feet stumbling to the typewriter on my desk and with the flash of light was I able to see it.

My breath seized as I saw the black ink on the page, it was so minor but so huge at the same time. A simple question mark now sat at the end of 'The End' I had previously typed just before.

My eyes scanned the darkness frantically for any sign of the only person who could have done it. Only for the room to swirl around me as the alcohol I had consumed began to take effect.

Racing around the desk I felt my foot catch on something and my knee give out, I closed my eyes to brace myself for the hard fall that was surely about to come, only for strong arms to catch me.

The smell of tobacco and gunpowder filled my nose as I breathed in, the very smell that was and only could be Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh Watson, what have you done to yourself old boy?" he chuckles; the deep gravelly voice I remember was still the same.

Managing to steady myself with the help of the man behind me I turn to look at him, I could see his outline but I could not see him. Quickly, but carefully I race to my desk and light the candle, spinning as the soft orange light fills the room. Was I surely imagining him here standing before me with the same half smile and calculative eyes full of mischief?

"I am surely here Watson; I am not part of your drunken imagination." He tuts before pulling out the familiar clay pipe from his jacket and lighting it.

"But you fell, you died." I blurt out quite loud, my voice in disbelief causing him to chuckle and tut again.

"Still the same Watson. Dear Watson, how could I be dead when you found no body?" he tusked before turning slightly and walking to sit in the chair I once was.

"How, you need to tell me how!" I demand as I stumble after him.

The fireplace lit up in light once more as he flicks a burning match into the timber pile. I blink for a few seconds as I stumble into the chair across for him, he was still the same Sherlock but he looked old as he gazed apologetically at me.

"But there is no mystery if I tell you. But for now dear Watson, just be glad that the end is not over." He whispers, showing emotion as he leans forward and pats my hand. Sighing I nodded, it wouldn't be Holmes if he told me all his tricks.

So as he leaned back and gazed into the fire, I relaxed happily as I watched him.

He was back, the end wasn't over… yet.

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**A/N: well I do hope you like it, I am slightly unaccustomed to the pair but still. BTW I am also writing a Bella/Sherlock Twi/Holmes crossover... Its called Memories of Old Mysteries**

**Ellie**


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